


Snowcone Kissing

by fhsa_archivist



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-23
Updated: 2005-10-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Remy/Bobby. Remy finds out someone has a crush on him. Not much more to it.





	Snowcone Kissing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Title: Snowcone Kissing

Author: Scyllablue

Fandom: X-Men

Summary: Remy finds out someone has a crush on him.

Pairing: Remy/Bobby

Spoilers: none

Rating: FRAO N-17 SLASH

Disclaimer: Characters are owned by Marvel, which is owned by ToyBiz. Am making no profit.

Author’s Notes: OMG! I am so thrilled I found this story on an old floppy and it actually opened! I think this was my second attempt at slash, period. Please do not try to locate my X-Men stories to any firm timeline based upon who I mention. It will be a fruitless endeavor. Bobby is nineteen, Remy somewhere around twenty-one. 

 

~*~

 

Consciousness returned with an irregular dripping and a sharp pain in his hip. Bobby Drake, alias Iceman of the X-Men, moaned and awkwardly rolled himself off the vindictive piece of floor that was trying to impale him the blunt way and made an effort to open his eyes. When nothing greeted him, welcome or otherwise, he raised a trembling hand to his face. “Ow.” Yep, his eyes were open. Which could mean any number of things, including blindness, but he was hoping that someone had just forgotten the lights. Less hysterical terror that route.

 

He laid there for several minutes, maybe hours, he wasn’t sure, trying to figure out if his head was on correct and if he’d actually eaten the eggs he could taste in the back of his mouth this morning for breakfast. Little disjointed thoughts meandered through the back of his head, not connecting into any stream of coherence long enough for him to latch onto, so he concentrated on breathing, eyes blinking with random regularity. He knew there was something wrong with him, shock or something, but he decided not to worry about it. The eggs were really bothering him. Hadn’t he filched some of Scott’s waffles? Wondered why it was so dark. Where he was at. How he got there.

 

Oh yeah. The memory bubbled up, playing itself out in slides like those cool View Masters eye boxes he’d had as a kid. X-Men fighting the villain of the week. Iceman sliding through the air, which was cool, cause it was him, then he was on the floor, next to Gambit. Hmmm, Remy looked good so he hit pause and hummed over the tall auburn haired mutant, wishing he had that DVD feature that’d let him check Remy out from different camera angles. Note to self: upgrade memory to cooler features. Reluctantly, he let the slide show continue, seeing the explosion that collapsed the floor, sending himself and Remy to wherever here was.

 

Wait a minute. He replayed the scene, seeing Remy disappear into the cloud of smoke and debris with him. That meant the other mutant could be down here with him, injured or worse.

 

“R-Remy?” he croaked, convulsively swallowing as he found his throat and mouth clogged with dust. “Remy, can you hear me?” His voice sounded quiet to his own ears, barely lifting past his head. A reflexive instinct and he iced his throat, relieving the dry ache. “Remy?” Louder this time, but there was still no answer. “Dammit, Remy, answer me!”

 

Blessed noise, a low groan carried to him, somewhere beyond his head. Barring evil monsters lying in wait or one of the bad guys, he was in luck. A minute longer and then he rolled to his hands and knees, his stomach slewing queasily with the motion. Unable to see, he decided to stay on his knees; less likely to trip from the lower elevation than if he tried standing. Shuffle, shuffle, and his hands slipped and brushed over what felt like rocks, a thick powdery layer of something laying thick over everything he touched. Nothing so large he had to detour around, and he knew Remy was close, the occasional moan a siren’s call he eagerly followed. And he was pretty sure it was the Cajun, the soft noises sounding Frenchie. Or maybe it was just his over-active imagination and his deprived sex-drive saying “How do you do?”

 

Inane ramblings stuttered to a stop as his hands met softness, a body. His arms shook, but he forced himself to touch, gently skimming over leather and Kevlar, trying to orient himself and confirm it was Gambit he’d found. Unable to see, he could have been groping one of the bad guys, disgusting thought. But there was what felt like yards of leather folded about hard warm flesh, resisting his efforts to find the body beneath. Finally, he found a hand, only three of the fingers gloved. Thank you for playing, you’ve won a free feel and Remy Lebeau’s hand.

 

“Oh thank God, Remy, it’s Remy.” Running his hands up, he felt for injuries, broken skin or bones. “It’s going to be okay, Rem’, I’ve found you. We’ll get out of wherever here is. The others will find us.” Thankfully, he encountered no wetness to indicate blood; swelling or heat that would mark internal injuries. The limbs were smooth and if he lingered over long in his examination, there was no one to comment. The Arcadian moaned, twisting on the cold floor, shrinking from Bobby’s unknown touch. “Shhh, Remy, it’s just me, Bobby. Come on, Remy, open those baby reds, talk to me.” He traced over the stubbled face, felt Remy’s mouth move against his fingertips.

 

“Ne pas partir les éléphants dans l'évier.” 

 

“What? You’re not talking dirty to me are you, buddy?” No response, but the other mutant did relax. Whether it meant he’d slipped deeper into unconsciousness or recognized Bobby, the icy mutant couldn’t tell. Still searching for the cause of Remy’s state, he carefully carded his fingers through the decadently long hair, sighing wistfully at the luxuriating softness. “God, Remy, how does a guy get hair this soft? It’s like animal fur or something.” There, at the back of his head, he found a warm dampness matting the hair. “Fuck.” He must have knocked his head in the fall.

 

Moving with deliberate gentleness, he pulled his injured teammate onto his lap, arranging the long slender limbs until they were both comfortable. Remy’s breath dampened the skin at the base of his neck as he protectively tightened his arms about the other, needing to reassure and comfort. There was at least one thing he could do while waiting for rescue. Without even the necessity of thought he made a small snowball in the palm of one hand and pressed it to the back of Remy’s head, hoping to help with the swelling and blood loss.

 

The Cajun made a muted sharp noise at the cold touch, but Bobby held him still, feeling the snow melt and slide down his arm and the back of Remy’s neck. He could have spared them both the discomfort, but he was more worried about freezing that beautiful hair off if he iced the wound than a soaked sleeve. So he just made more snow and clutched the other tighter, pressing a kiss to the head bent beneath his. “Don’t worry, Remy, I’ve got you and I ain’t letting go.” Oh God, he was so lost. It was heaven, here in the darkness and he swallowed the bitter laughter that tried to spew out, burying his face into that sinful fall of hair. This was it, this was as close as he got. Stupid and hopeless, and he grinned at himself as he burrowed into Remy’s warmth, grip secure as he faded from consciousness.

 

Two hours later weak light began to stutter through the darkness as the X-Men found their lost comrades. Jean Grey was the first to see them, worry etching lines into her beautiful face as she quickly flew to the huddled figures. For hours all she had been able to sense was murky confusion and pain, nothing coherent enough to connect to. What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

 

They held the stillness of statues, Remy curled in Bobby’s lap, heads pressed together, bodies molded into one form. It was adorable, and erotic, and somehow possessed of a sadness that made her throat hurt. She felt voyeuristic. There was something here, and she stared at Bobby’s hands, at his whole body curled protectively around the other man in his lap. It was something near tangible.

 

And Jean Grey began to plan.

 

 

several weeks later

 

The teenager’s emotions were intoxicating. Such a wide range, each completely realized and explored, yet chaotically jumbled together, passionate flares briefly consuming before re-submerging beneath the surface of teen hormones. Remy settled himself against a tall block of alien machinery to gorge himself, confident he had outwitted the mansion’s security system. Loneliness, anger, but strongest of all, a stubborn sense of humor, self-mocking, equal parts giddy and cynical. So young to possess such a dark humor, an undercurrent that swept away all petty, transitory drabbles of scenic emotion. To re-direct that powerful current into a more accommodating state of mind was an idea Remy fixed upon, staring down at the slimly muscled youth working below him.

 

The past few weeks had proved painfully enlightening to the young thief who now silently lowered himself closer to his unsuspecting quarry. He’d realized months ago, long before Antarctica, that his belle Rogue did not love him. A grudging affection, perhaps, on their good days, but she had used him as he had used her, a shield to hold against others. Rogue could continue to nurture that self-delusion, but since his empathic powers had come to the fore, he was denied that comforting illusion. When he opened his shields to her, no love was felt, not what he felt from Jean and Scott for each other. Not even a shade of their enduring passion. It had humbled him, to feel such an inferno of emotion from the stoic Scott Summers. It made him hunger. Even Angel and Betsy felt something for each other, coldly passionate, but emotionally engaged nonetheless. Rogue felt none of that. Not for him, at least, and it angered him that she made a show of blaming him for his abandonment. That she loved him still. To know the truth of her lies made him nauseous and hungrier still.

 

Every day he trained with Jeannie, who was determined he master his empathic powers. Empaths were rare, she said, true empaths who did not read emotion from the timbre of thoughts but the emotions themselves. In truth, she was more ecstatic over his evolving charm power than he was. The illusion of someone loving him was a pleasure he was loathe to give up. Only Jeannie knew how Rogue really felt. Confusingly at the time, she hadn’t been as sympathetic as he’d expected, only making an odd comment.

 

“Maybe it’s not where you’re looking.”

 

A cryptic comment that had eventually led him here. To hone his control he’d started practicing on his fellow X-Men. With no desire to be invasive he kept himself to the shallow end of their emotions, but he quickly became adept at identifying and locating the others by their unique patinas of emotions, almost like flavors. Jeannie was like tea, delicate and strong, warmth and bitter sweetness. Ange left the taste of metal in his mouth and the musk of old books, Logan of old scotch, Jubilee of over-sweet cereal, and Scott, oddly enough, of dark cherry chocolate, much to Jeannie’s amusement. They all soon became familiar and comforting, like old clothes and his favorite year of wine, but his feelings of isolation grew at the same time. To pirate such delicious emotions and know none of it was meant for him was tortuous. 

 

Then Bobby Drake came home. Remy had only known because the Iceman’s name had appeared on the monitor duty rotation, the two young men never happening to cross paths except for the odd battle or training session. It didn’t occur to the Cajun that it was intentional until Drake stumbled upon him in Stormie’s greenhouse. Elbow deep in potting soil he’d been tackled by a wave of lust, admiration, affection, sadness, anger, and love all aimed at him. It was a heady, virgin experience and he’d turned to see Bobby Drake standing in the doorway, twisting his hands in his shirt as he tried to look anywhere but at the auburn haired man liberally covered in moist dirt and little else.

 

“Bobby?” he’d whispered, shock thick in his voice as shy embarrassment twisted foreign and sweet through his insides. The smaller brunette glanced up at the sound of his name, smiled, and darted back through the door he’d never left.

 

That had started Remy on his current quest. In the days that followed the odd encounter he realized Bobby was trying to avoid him, amusing attempts he enjoyed foiling. He made an effort to learn the other’s schedule and modified his accordingly, instigating several random encounters. With each run-in he tuned his impression of Bobby’s feelings, greedily soaking them in, provoking them to expand, consume.

 

While it was his inclination to jump Bobby in some deserted section of the mansion and have his wicked way, his instincts warned him towards a more cautious approach. He did not want a one night stand for several reasons, first among those Bobby himself. Remy LeBeau had very few faithful friends; Antarctica had proven that. No matter what came of his machinations, he didn’t want to lose the easily humored teen as a friend. Treating his snowman’s crush as an excuse for a quick fuck would certainly do that. The ensuing rift of hurt feelings would probably get him kicked off the team permanently, and he didn’t want to be exiled from the only family he had left.

 

The insurmountable and galling reason, however, was himself. After spending a night on the roof, working through his feelings and two packs of Marlboros, he’d decided Bobby was what he wanted and needed. Having him wasn’t an issue. Remy was confident enough of his sexual prowess, and if Bobby wasn’t a virgin, he was close enough to make no difference. He could have Bobby Drake easy; what chased him onto the roof was that he wanted Bobby Drake, in his bed on a permanent basis. Sacre Dieu, he was wanting to settle down, try his sheets with a monogamous partner. The desire frightened him, but only for an hour or so. Life changed. Just the memory of a small pert ass bending over to pick up a fallen TV remote, adorable grin flashing over one shoulder, had him shifting to a more comfortable sprawl on the cold roof tiles.

 

Oh yeah, he knew what he wanted, but he’d have to go slow. His snowman was a shy, skittish creature. If pushed too hard, too quickly, he’d run, and the boy had plenty of hiding places. No, he’d treat Bobby like any wild creature and hope it didn’t take too long to coax him to hand.

 

The first obstacle was keeping him around long enough to establish a connection. The kid was too embarrassed of his crush on a fellow teammate to stay any length of time with the object of his desire. Flattering, but inconvenient, so Remy opted for expediency and simply squashed the emotion, redirecting the energy into his sense of play, a dominant emotion and easily accessed. 

 

Once Bobby accepted him into his personal space, the courtship quickly escalated. An irredeemable cuddler, Bobby couldn’t resist leaning into him when he invited himself to Saturday morning cartoons, smoothly shoving Jubilation off the couch so he could sprawl out next to his lover-to-be. The cartoons were corny, but amusing, and Bobby never noticed the subtle shifting of the Cajun’s weight that slowly slumped him into the taller man. By noon, his snowman was half reclining over him and his hand had found a comfortable spot across the width of narrow back on a bony shoulder.

 

It became practice for Remy to touch the petite brunette, casually, briefly, a hand on his back, a squeeze of an arm, innocent contacts that gentled the Iceman to his proximity. After a short while, Bobby maneuvered into the caresses and it became a common sight to see the young men together at meetings, in practice, at the dinner table. Unconsciously, the younger man attached himself to Remy’s side, an automatic impulse that pleased him immensely. None of the other X-Men seemed to notice, which surprised their black sheep. He had expected to have to defend himself and his intentions, but the only one who noticed was Jeannie, and she just watched with a gentle, secretive smile.

 

His patience came near its end when he caught Bobby staring at him, want beating off him in swamping waves. The teen was ripe to be plucked and Remy had to strangle down the urge to take him right there in the rec room, audience be damned. The sure death him, that’s what his snowman was, and he silently swore retribution as he quickly excused himself and ran to his room and a long, cold shower.

 

Miraculously, opportunity presented itself the next night, somehow everyone leaving within an hour of each other. Remy had almost gone to the soiree himself, planning to drown his frustrated ardor in expensive liquor, but then Jeannie reminded him that’d he’d promised to recalibrate the Danger Room’s firing sequencers and she really needed that done before her morning session. He’d stared at her hard, suspicious, but the green eyes that blinked up at him were completely guileless. It was a five minute chore, but he didn’t feel like getting up in the morning to do it, so he agreed. With Scott ahead of her, the matriarch of the X-Men stopped at the door and turned to give the sulking Cajun parting instructions, graceful fingers smoothing the wrinkles from her silk gloves. “There are leftovers in the fridge, Remy, so you won’t need to make yourself dinner. Oh, and see that Bobby eats something. He couldn’t go with Jubilee to the mall; he’s in Hank’s lab cleaning up his mess.” She looked up then and smiled at the startled young man who’d jerked up from his slouch. “Have an enjoyable evening, Remy.”

 

“Ou-Yes, Madame.” He’d stammered. Himself and Bobby, alone in the mansion. No one else. A wicked smile lit up red eyes as he ripped at his tie, skipping steps on his run up the stairs to his room.

 

An hour later, Remy slipped closer to his prey, determinedly silent. One of the icy mutant’s elaborate pranks had been carried off with expert precision earlier today, and now the petite brunette was left to clean up the remains. Humming wordlessly to himself, Bobby cleaned red paint off the walls of McCoy’s lab, back to the approaching hunter, dressed in only cut-off shorts, sandals, and smears of red and pink.

 

“Bobby.” He kept his voice low, not meaning to startle, but the teenager shrieked just the same, soapy pink paint geysering out of the violently squished sponge as Bobby whirled around. “Bobby, moi petit bonhomne de neige,” the Cajun chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Remy apologize for startin’ ya. Just put down the sponge, eh?”

 

The brunette blushed, then grinned, wagging the sponge. “It’s unloaded. Are you looking for Hank? ‘Cause he went to that penguin thing with Jean and the others.”

 

“Non.” He stepped closer, opening himself to the heady emotions. Sweet heaven in the innocent heart. “Lookin’ for you.”

 

“Me?” Bobby swallowed, spiking nervousness as he stepped back, bumping into the wall only to recoil from the slimy cold touch of wet paint, stumbling closer to the young man watching him with predatorial hunger. “Um, sure, what can I do for you? Though if this has anything to do with that disco ball in the Danger Room, that wasn’t me.”

 

Disco ball? Certain it had everything to do with his adorable trickster, the Thief of New Orleans smirked, closing the distance between them until the shorter youth had to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. “Non. Not dat eder. Wanted to talk to you ‘bout this sweet you ‘ave on me.”

 

Brown eyes almost gold in color widened, panic flaring cloyingly sweet across the back of Remy’s mind, made acrid by the underlying taste of sadness. “Oh. Damn. Look, Rem’, it’s nothing, honest.” He did back into the wall and stay there this time. “You know how these things are, teenage hormones. Hell, I’ve got a crush on half of the WB primetime. Give it a few years, it’ll pass.”

 

“Non, don’ think so. Dese kind of infatuations can fester.” Holding those terrified eyes, caught by the sparkle of tears, Remy bent to place a chaste kiss on soft lips. Bobby’s entire body jerked with his shocked in-drawn breath, but the thief played the gentleman and resisted the unthought invitation of the mouth opening beneath his. Reluctantly, he straightened, surprised to find his own breath somewhat short after such an innocent buss.

 

“Remy?” Dazed eyes the color of dark topaz blinked up at him, shock dominating the chaos of emotions battling inside that wiry frame. Shaking off the effects of their first kiss, Remy focused on control, of himself and his snowman.

 

He’d forgotten what he’d said earlier and chuckled to himself, doubting Bobby was in any condition to remind him where he’d left the string of conversation. Not that it mattered. Grateful that he’d opted for casual, easily cleaned jeans and tee-shirt for this hunt, Remy snagged the paint besmeared beauty about the waist and dipped in for a deeper kiss. Stroking a finger down one smooth cheek, he concentrated on the youth’s passion, lust, and no small amount of desperate love flushing through them both as he called it forth. Bobby trembled, gasping for breath, eyes squeezing shut, then blinking open. Golden eyes blazed from that angelic face, ensnaring the thief that sought to steal his heart.

 

It took little persuasion to open that mouth to his and he swept inside, tasting old sweetness from a confectionery eaten hours past and a crisp, clean taste that had to be Bobby all himself. A snowcone of wet coolness and the Cajun realized the cavern his tongue explored wasn’t as warm as it should have been for human body temperature. Something doubtless to do with his icy powers, unique and erotic, painfully tightening Remy’s jeans as it fueled his passion for the youth.

 

Scratching for purchase on Remy’s arms, Bobby moaned, arching into the embrace. Honest, raw emotion surged against Remy’s crumbling restraint, the eagerly writhing body in his arms furthering the erosion. Recognizing the rush of power for the ruination it would bring, he realized the pace had to slow. If the passion burned too quickly, there’d be nothing left.

 

“Bobby,” he groaned, tearing from the nubile mouth to bury his face in the juncture of neck and shoulder, “Need slow down, cher. Don’ want to rush this.”

 

Fingers gripped at his shirt and burrowed through his hair, tugging. “Then stop spiking my sex drive,” the brunette gasped, “and we might last more than five minutes.”

 

Surprised, Remy reared back, eyes locking with the frank gaze watching him. “You know and not upset with Remy?”

 

Bobby laughed and stretched up to buss him lightly, guiding hand pulling the taller man to meet him halfway. Remy dumbly went. “They’re my emotions, Remy, you haven’t changed them. Just made them,” and the wiry body arched as those topaz orbs shuttered briefly, bliss singing from him with a low hum, “stronger, sharper. Almost painful. Feels great.” A sudden frown marred his bruised mouth. “Gotta ask why though. I mean, what about – mmghmph!”

 

He knew what was coming next: “What about you and Rogue?”, and after that beautiful confession, he couldn’t hear it. Bobby struggled against the kiss briefly before leaning in, tongue slipping out to play. Par Dieu, the kid was a good kisser!

 

“Rogue don’ know love, least not for Remy,” he gasped, nibbling, palming his way down the smooth torso, all the way to his knees. Eyes wide, Bobby stared down at him, tentative hands raising to cup the auburn head. Silent reassurance and acceptance allowing the Cajun to continue. “Want this, want to know,” his voice caught, threatening to break and he couldn’t meet those searching eyes any longer. Rubbed his face into the gently rippled stomach as he gripped narrow hips. The flesh beneath his mouth clenched, trembling, though Bobby stayed quiet. “M’tired of wanting, waiting to feel like somebody cares if I’m there in the morning or slipped out starved in the middle of the night. And you, my snowman, moi petit bonhomne de neige, beautiful sweetness. Just once. Just tomorrow, and the day after, and forever. Jeannie says em’pats can make people feel things, but you make me feel, make Remy realize what he ain’t got and never had. Just once, to know this-“

 

A cool hand stopped the rambling, firm pressure against his lips. “Okay. It’s okay.” The usually clear tenor was harsh and Remy opened himself to a coil of longing and sadness, bitterly laced with love, desire, and self-hate. “I never thought this scene was ever going to happen, so I don’t expect some insane declaration of love. But I’ve wanted you too long to care, so please, just make me stop thinking. Just,” and the slender body in his hands thrust into him with a fine trembling, “make me-“ The rest was lost in a sobbed gasp as Remy latched his mouth onto the nearest patch of skin and sucked.

 

What a hopeless pair they were, but Remy swore to himself Bobby wouldn’t regret the generosity of his love. Hands popping the buttons on the stained cutoffs, he worked his way back up the smooth chest, licking and sucking around patches of paint. Bobby’s nipples were a light brown and each received its fair measure of attention. Hands tangled in his hair, clenching with each short gasp of pleasure. Sweat sheened the lightly tanned skin, but stayed oddly cool under the stroke of Remy’s tongue.

 

The shorts were left behind as the Cajun backed them to one of the medical beds, lifting Bobby from the floor as he found an erogenous spot on his neck. Marking it for later exploration, he jerked down the obstructing boxer briefs and cupped the small ass they’d hid. Pulled him into his own jean clad crotch and chuckled when Bobby gasped at the feeling of rough denim against his hard, over-sensitized flesh. Excited arousal engulfed the empath and he rumbled his pleasure low in his throat, hips rolling with smooth rhythm as he unconsciously reached for the other mutant’s mind, needing him to feel his own desire.

 

Bobby’s hands tore at his shirt, so he set the smaller man down to quickly shed his clothes. Wide, beautiful brown eyes stared at him, and Remy nearly preened at the shy approval. “God, Remy, you’re gorgeous.” A tentative hand reached out to lightly brush over one nipple and Remy sucked in his own breath at the inflaming caress.

 

He caught the retreating hand and interlaced their fingers as he pulled the blushing youth back into his rightful place. Curling their arms behind the slender waist, he pressed their fist into the small of Bobby’s back, bowing him until their erections slid together. Breath shortening, Bobby rose to his tiptoes and his new lover bent the small distance to lick one cheek, then the other.

 

“Oui, Remy is beautiful.” To deny it would have been false modesty; the thief knew he was stunning by anyone’s standards. “And you, my snowman, are exquisite.” He traced the high cheekbones, grazed his thumb down the side of the pert nose before pressing the full mouth open. Pale pink lips closed around his thumb and begin to suck. “De look of eternal innocence hangs ‘bout you, begging to be sinned against.” He freed his hand to stroke down the slim chest, the smooth flanks hardened by the flexed muscles beneath. “Small and perfectly proportioned, make Remy think you was made just for him.” One finger slid between his ass cheeks, lightly teasing the entrance to Bobby’s body, eliciting a startled gasp and flinch. “Reckon you’re going to fit me like a custom made glove, eh, cher?”

 

Eyes dilated to near black stared at him, golden rings glowing as the slender body shuddered. “Remy, please.”

 

Two fingers suddenly rested on his dry lower lip. “Suck,” Remy breathed, and felt his cock twitch as the brunette instantly obeyed. Bringing their joined hands up to his shoulder, he left Bobby’s hand there to wander back down the neglected chest. Almost absently, he rolled and pinched a pebbled nipple, focused on watching his glistening fingers slide in and out between those pursed lips, imagining the mouth stretched wide around another piece of his anatomy. Later, he promised himself, and pulled the fingers free.

 

Slender hips were thrusting into his own, trying to gain much needed friction, but Remy left off the bruised nipples to grab and hold Bobby still. His fingers barely indented the sinuous flesh and Bobby moaned in protest. “Easy, cher. Remy need you to relax. Dis going to feel real good.” Realizing his petite lover couldn’t withstand any more teasing, Remy slid his wet fingers to Bobby’s puckered opening and slid one in.

 

Bobby grunted sharply and tried to pull away from the unfamiliar touch, but Remy held him still and pushed the finger in as far as it would go. He kissed the closed eyelids and eased the finger completely out only to thrust it in again. “Relax, moi beau bonhomne de neige.” No pain, but a feeling of discomfort and a need to push furrowed the high brow as the slim brunette bit his lower lip. Crooking his finger, Remy grinned as he found the prostate and brushed over it, watching for the reaction.

 

“Remy!” He yelped, eyes popping open as his whole body gave a delicious shudder.

 

“Like dat, non?” Remy chuckled, rubbing the sweet spot again. “Dat, boys and girls, is de prostate.”

 

With an enticing wiggle, Bobby rocked back on his impaling finger. “My new happy friend,” he gasped. A slow caress up the expanse of smooth back ended at the nape of Bobby’s neck, fingers gripping hard enough to tilt and angle for another kiss. He devoured the aroused moans, tongue sweeping in to taste what he’d claimed.

 

A second finger worked its way inside as Remy kicked his jeans towards the medical bed they were only a few short feet from. Tongue fucking in rhythm with his stretching fingers, he released Bobby’s neck to reach down for one slimly muscled leg and lift it to his waist. Catching on, Bobby wrapped his arms around his neck and gave a little hop, legs clenching about Remy’s waist. The teen barely weighed anything, which was a marvel considering all the Twinkies he devoured.

 

Carrying him to the bed, Remy set him down on the end and shoved him back. Bobby landed with a small bounce and the Cajun kissed his way down to his neglected crotch, legs sliding up to hang over his shoulders. Buried his face in dark curls and breathed. Narrow hips were jerking gently in time to his fingers still working in the tight ass. “Remy, oh God, please, Remy.” He turned his face and licked at the cock curled up towards the flat stomach. “Remy!”

 

Sweetest musk, and he swallowed the leaking cock in one plunge, holding the thrusting hips down with one hand. Bobby was sobbing and mumbling above him, fingers reaching down to grip at his hair and hold him in place. With both hands occupied, Remy felt for his jeans with one foot, rooting until he worked the tube of lubricant out of a back pocket. Curled his toes around it and lifted it to his quickly freed hand.

 

With a last sweeping lick, he let go of Bobby’s cock and straightened. Bobby moaned in protest, golden eyes fluttering open to glare at him balefully. Remy grinned at the petulant look and pulled his fingers out, earning a sharp cry. “Don’t you dare fucking stop now, Remy LeBeau!” 

 

Popping the tube open, he quickly coated his own dripping erection, then tossed it on the floor. “Just upping the ante, cher,” he murmured, gripping the brunette’s thighs and tugging him closer to the edge of the bed. Bobby swallowed, but gamely lifted his hips, eyes squeezing shut at the first brush of blunt pressure against his opening. Wanting to minimize the pain as much as possible, Remy pressed in slowly and stopped when the head cleared, giving Bobby time to adjust. His little snowman’s whole body shook, fingers clutching at the sterilized sheets, head tossing with moans and small cries. He whispered love and reassurance to him as he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself in tight warmth.

 

He held himself there until a small whimper and thrust of hips released him to ease out and shove back in. So very slowly at first, letting Bobby get used to the feeling of being over-filled, stretched to near splitting, burning heat traveling up his spine making him writhe and arch into each penetration. Remy eased his legs back around his waist, freeing him to lean forward to capture the gasping mouth. Pleasure and pain fought to overwhelm Bobby’s senses and the empath did nothing to sway him one way or the other with his powers. Nipped and licked at his mouth, hand reaching between them to fist his cock, reveling in the maelstrom that increased his pace. His hips snapped hard, burying him deep, then a slow withdraw before snapping forward again. Beneath him, Bobby cried out, screamed, with each thrust, inarticulate nonsense that spurred Remy on.

 

Bobby came first, screaming Remy’s name as he splashed their stomachs and chests. The tight cavity clenched like a vise, milking the Cajun of his own orgasm. Caught in the rush of his lover’s blinding pleasure, Remy barely noticed his own release in time to feed it back into Bobby. In the euphoric rush of shared ecstasy, empathic instinct reached between them, weaving a gossamer bond.

 

Neither moved for several minutes. Head on the heaving chest beneath him, Remy gasped for breath, hands fumblingly patting him reminding him that he still had a body. That had been the most intense sex of his young life, and he had a lot to compare it to. Maybe being an empath wasn’t so bad after all. With a small groan he levered himself to his elbows, lightly kissing the panting mouth, nose, cheeks, one ear, then other, before he buried his face in soft spiky locks. He could feel himself softening, still inside, and at the same time, could feel warm semen trickling down his crack. It was a creepy, erotic rush that was going to have him hard again in seconds if they didn’t separate. 

 

He wasn’t sure if his legs could support him, but he stood anyway, gently pulling out. Bobby moaned, but let himself be soothed with soft touches that coaxed him into sitting, then leaning on Remy as he was tugged to his feet. Cupping the heart shaped face between his palms, the Cajun kissed him, stirring still golden eyes to blink dazedly. “Dat was good for Bobby?” He knew, had felt it more cleanly than his own pleasure, but he needed to hear the words. What if Bobby now regretted the liaison?

 

“That was wow,” the brunette whispered, crumpling into him. “Double wow. We stink.”

 

Remy laughed. “Good dhing de Beast has a stall in dere, eh? Vini.” Slipping an arm about the sweat slick waist, Remy hauled him to the shower stall inset into one corner. The cubicle was proportioned to accommodate the girth of the lab’s doctor, so it easily fit two slender mutants. Remy propped Bobby in one corner and quickly punched in the temperature he wanted into the control panel. Eighty-six degrees, no warm up, and he grinned as he pulled his groggy lover under the spray from the ceiling showerhead. Bobby sputtered, but held onto the taller mutant, allowing himself to be quickly scrubbed down. As much as he wanted to take his little snowman again, he wanted to do it in a proper bed.

 

“Ready to take this upstairs, cher?” He was even faster cleaning himself off, though Bobby languidly tried to help.

 

A sopping mop of curls plopped onto his soapy chest. “Paint. Wall.”

 

“Tomorrow.” A finger press and the shower cut off. “You all wet is giving Remy ideas.” Next to the stall he found a shelf of oversized towels and efficiently wrapped Bobby in one. The thing hung past his knees and somehow made him look even more fuckable. Remy shook his head and concentrated on toweling his hair. He couldn’t shut up the voice in his head, though, asking if he could use his powers to make Bobby come again and again, to actually consciously use his charm power.

 

All such thoughts fell out of his head, however, when Bobby took up his hand with his mischievous smile in full bloom. “You know, we could go to the Danger Room. Turn off the gravity. Play catch the lube?”

 

Par Dieu, this boy was going to keep him on his toes!

 

~*~

 

The next afternoon Remy slid onto the couch behind Jean, running greedy fingers through her vibrant red hair. Bookmarking her page the telepath closed her paperback and twisted to smile in welcome. “Did you have a good evening, Remy?” she softly asked, fern green eyes twinkling.

 

Curling his legs up Remy twirled a lock of his own darker red hair, suspicious of her smug grin. “Remy can’ help thinkin’ Jeannie knew more abou’ Remy’s heart than he did. You knew my lil’ snowman’s heart fer certain.”

 

Jean nodded. “Yes, I did. Though you don’t remember it, Bobby kept you alive when you were knocked unconscious in our fight with the Marauders. I saw then how he felt about you.” She cocked her head at his stunned expression, smile growing wistful. “Would you like to see what I saw that day when we found you?”

 

“Oui,” Remy weakly answered. He had not known about what Bobby had done for him, but as the image emerged he closed his eyes with a sharply drawn breath. Jean’s memory captured every detail of their entwined figures, every subtly expressed emotion. It was breathtaking and he reverently took the memory into his own, warming himself. Bobby’s expression held such tragic devotion he could not help but respond. Tears clotted his eyes but he blinked them away, red gaze opening to Jean’s knowing visage. 

 

“Was I wrong, Mr. LeBeau?” she asked.

 

A thunder of feet precluded his answering, Bobby and Julio bursting into the room with Warren hot on their heels. Whatever they had done to the winged, blue skinned millionaire he was frothing with pink bubbles, trails of florescent bubblegum colored soap streaming from his darker pink wings. The man wasn’t wearing a stitch and looked a sight. Jean clamped a hand over her mouth.

 

With a roar and a leap Warren lunged at the insanely giggling, hiccupping teenagers. Bobby narrowly escaped sliding around the couch on a patch of ice but Julio went down. “Star!” The Mexican screamed for his boyfriend, wiggling and squirming in the Angel’s bubbly hold.

 

“You’re eating soap, you brats!” Warren roared.

 

Bobby, still laughing, snatched at Remy’s hand. “Come on! You have to hide me!”

 

The petite Rictor succeeded in squirming out of Warren’s hold, slipping and sliding as he dashed through the portal leading to the kitchens. “Try again, reloj viejo!”

 

Dragging Remy up from the couch the brunette shrieked as Warren surged to his feet, a horrible vision of pink froth and growling ferocity. Whatever chemical the two had doused the Angel with was still industrially bubbling away. Pulled after his lover Remy spared a final glance over his shoulder to meet Jean’s eyes. “Non!” he answered and disappeared through the doorway. 

 

The End.

 

When Remy is delirious he says, ‘Don’t leave the elephants in the sink’.

He calls Bobby his ‘little snowman’, ‘beautiful snowman’, etc.

Julio called Warren an ‘old timer’.


End file.
